


Reichenbach Academy of Excellence

by bookwormtsb



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 20:44:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/614150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookwormtsb/pseuds/bookwormtsb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Because we're students, not detectives or whatever the hell this set up is!" John Watson arrives at Reichenbach Academy of Excellence only to be plunged straight into the madness that surrounds his mysterious new roommate, Sherlock Holmes. After nearly a year of pushing people away, following the tragic death of his parents, John finally accepts a group of friends and begins the arduous journey of pulling himself out of the depths of depression, well in between solving mysteries, visiting crime scenes and keeping up with his homework and rugby practice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Arrival

John Watson shouldered his slightly worn rucksack and slammed the taxi door shut behind him. On the other side of the car Harriet Watson stumbled over her Doc Marten boots and tumbled onto the tarmac. John dropped his holdall and rushed to help his sister. Harriet, or as she preferred to be called, Harry, was sprawled on the ground with a faint ghost of a grin on her face. As he pulled her to her feet John inspected his sister carefully, Harry was pixie like and pale with short dark hair that stuck up wildly at the back and a slightly uneven fringe. With a height of 5"2 and her exceedingly slim frame Harriet Watson could have easily passed as the younger of the two siblings. John stared at his sister with a hint of sadness; the past year had been hard on both of them and they'd both developed self destructive defence mechanisms, he couldn't quite decide whose had been worse, "Harry," John kept his hands around his sister's slim wrists, "please stay safe," Harriet nodded solemnly and pressed her forehead against her brother's.

"John, you're my baby brother, I should be looking after you," she sighed. It was hard to imagine John Watson needing looked after; he looked to be on the cusp of a growth spurt that meant he could easily surpass the height of six feet, his sandy hair flopped to the side in a sort of shaggy fringe, he had the build of a rugby player and eyes that were hardened with wisdom. John laughed but it didn't quite reach his eyes, "I'll be fine, I promise," the two siblings looked up simultaneously at the looming building before them, Reichenbach Academy of Excellence.

John helped to drag Harry's small suitcase up the hill while she carried their bedding in a black bin liner. Harry stopped and rested the liner on the ground. She dug around in the pocket of her duffel coat for a moment before pulling out a crushed piece of paper with a map of the school on the back, "John, it says we have to sign in at reception where someone will show us to our rooms," John shifted his hold on the bags and turned towards the grand oak door set into the stone arch at the front of the large medieval building. They stepped inside the tiled porch and Harry pushed the door open so that the foyer of the school panned into view. If outward appearances were any judge of the interior, Reichenbach academy should have been furnished with coffins, wall brackets complete with flaming torches and stained glass windows. Instead it was quite modern with hard wood floors and dark leather couches in a square formation around a low coffee table and cream shag pile rug. Leaflets about extra curricular activities were spread across the coffee table alongside a fruit bowl, on the other side of the room there was a large desk with the school badge on the front and a tired looking receptionist lazily typing on an iMac. She was an unnatural redhead with flaming red nails and bags under her eyes that suggested a night out in the nearby town, "Um hi?" John asked carefully, the receptionist looked up slowly and rolled her eyes, "I'm John Watson and I'm the year 11 transfer student," he continued.

"Oh yeah, sign the bottom of this form, someone will collect you and take you to your room shortly. Breakfast is between 7 to 8 am and classes start next week," she explained while inspecting her cuticles. John quickly sprawled out John H. Watson and picked up the information pack she'd put out for him. It was a thick booklet with a slightly waxy cover; he took a seat on one of the couches and flicked through the first couple of introductory pages about the history of the school and previous OFSTED inspections, which were all exemplary, apparently. After a couple of pages there was a small section about school rules. John squinted at the small print. It explained how the boarding students had to apply for a night visa if they wished to stay away from school overnight at somewhere other than their home, it also stated that after prep and dinner students were free to wander the grounds and use the facilities such as the pool or gym. Then there were the more serious rules; no students were prohibited to be in another's room after 10pm and strictly no liaisons of an intimate nature within the school grounds.

There was a light cough and John looked up, he hadn't even realised that Harriet had already been shown to her room. A tall athletic looking boy leaned against the door frame, his polished house captain badge gleamed on the lapel of his navy blazer but his shirt was un-tucked and the top button of his white shirt was undone with his green and navy tie loosened slightly. He had short brown hair that was slightly longer on top and stood up in unorganised tufts. "Hey, I'm Greg Lestrade, head of Winchester house, nice to meet you," John nodded and shook Greg's outstretched hand before picking up his holdall and pulling his backpack onto his shoulders.

They came out of the building through the front door and walked across one of the large playing fields towards an old brick building with several turrets. "So are you new to the area?" Greg asked as they walked side by side through the slight drizzle that had started to fall. John shook his head, which caused several droplets of water to fly off. "No I'm from Hampshire originally, but my sister and I have been living with our aunt in Edinburgh for the past year," Greg looked slightly surprised, "our parents died in a car crash last year." John explained weakly.

"My brother died in a crash a couple of years back, he'd just got his license and was coming home from a gig one night, he got hit by drunk divers. My parents sent me here, so I wouldn't have to deal with all that stuff..." Greg trailed off and stared at his shoes. John didn't bother replying, the 'sorry for your loss' speech would be wasted on them both.

Without even realising it, they'd arrived outside Winchester accommodation. Greg glanced at John, who seemed lost in thought, before stepping inside. There was a short but wide entrance hall with male and female toilets at the far end, a door that led into a library to the right and a door that led to the computer suite on the left. There were two staircases leading away from each other on opposite sides of the hall, Greg led John up the one on the left which curved slightly until it finally brought them to the door way of the boys common room. It was cosy with a roaring fire and plush sofas and armchairs. The walls were lined with books and school photographs. Two large bay windows looked out over the fields at the back of the school, at the other end of the room there was another staircase. Greg motioned for John to follow him and they gradually climbed up various staircases until they made it to the very top floor of the building where the ceilings were slightly sloped and there was more room between the oak doors that were numbered with a small silver plaque. "Here you go!" Greg announced as they stopped at the very last door, 221B, "your roommate is Sherlock Holmes, he's a bit odd, I must worn you, but give the kid a chance, okay?" John nodded, feeling slightly nauseous. "I'm right down the hall, come get me if you need anything." with that Greg left John standing outside his new room feeling inexplicably nervous about meeting Sherlock Holmes.


	2. Sherlock Holmes

John gently pushed on the door of his new room and was surprised to see it swing open to reveal a completely empty and somewhat normal bedroom. Two slightly larger than average single beds were pushed against the opposite walls with short bedside cabinets next to the beds, a floor length mirror in between and a large chest of drawers at the end of each bed. John looked around the room for some sort of indication for which bed to take. He decided that it didn't really matter and dropped his hold all onto the end of the right hand side bed. The duvet covers were lime green and navy striped, so as to match the Winchester school ties and the walls were whitewashed and bare. John unzipped his bag and pulled out a plain navy t-shirt and grey jogging bottoms that he'd packed at the top. John stripped off carefully and placed the green polo shirt and chinos he'd been wearing at the end of the bed, he stood for a moment in his blue chequered boxers and surveyed himself in the mirror. He still hadn't quite accustomed to seeing the mass of red and white scar tissue that covered his shoulder and stood out starkly against his light tan. His chest and stomach were well muscled from rugby training and if he stood at a slight angle so that his left shoulder was facing away from the mirror he could have passed as a normal teenager, if it wasn't for the neat ladder of red scars that ran along the inside of his forearm.

"Bloody Anderson!" John jumped and automatically wrapped his arms around his body. A tall boy with a mess of dark curls that stuck up wildly in every direction surveyed John with a flicker of amusement over his slim features. "You must be John Watson," the boy greeted.

"Yeah, you must be Sherlock Holmes, how do you know about me?" Sherlock nodded and shied away from John slightly before sitting down on the end of the unoccupied bed.

"They told me I'd have a roommate called John Watson, besides I already know everything I need to know about you," John cocked his eyebrow in a sort of challenge, "you transferred here due to a car accident roughly a year ago which killed your parents. Since then you've lived somewhere with a close relative, most probably an aunt but you've been feeling neglected and alone probably because you had trouble making friends, which means you were relocated far from home. Since then you've resorted to self-harm which has been brought on by the mild depression you've experienced for the last year. You're still worried about your sibling however, they've also developed a destructive habit since the passing of your parents and it's weighing heavily on you-" Sherlock slowly counted out each deduction on his fingers. John gaped; astounded at the astute skills of this boy he'd just met.

"That was," he paused, what was it? "amazing," John murmured, still in a state of shock.

"You think so?" Sherlock pulled his knees up to his chest and stared at John.

"Of course, it was extraordinary, it was quite extraordinary…" Sherlock's brow knitted together in confusion.

"That's not what people normally say."

"Well what do they normally say?"

"Piss off." John felt the corners of his mouth tugging into his first genuine smile in months. Soon he was laughing while Sherlock sniggered softly.

There was a knock at the door and Greg's quiet voice came from the other side, "Sherlock? John? Are you guys in there?" John got to his feet and pulled open the door to reveal Greg Lestrade wearing a white t-shirt and skinny jeans. "Well you guys seem to be getting along well…" Greg smirked. John looked around confused before he realised how their predicament could be perceived, Sherlock sprawled across the bed with his long legs propped on the end of the frame and John in just his boxers with his cheeks flushed from laughter.

"This isn't how it looks, trust me Greg I was getting changed and-" Greg cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"Hey what you guys get up to in your own time is up to you but I was just wondering if you wanted to come out into town, a bunch of us are going for a drink and you're welcome to come." John looked confused.

"But Greg I'm only sixteen and Sherlock's-" he looked around to the lanky frame draped over the bed.

"I'm fifteen," Sherlock called out without raising his head.

"None of us are going to get served,"

"Then you guys can have a coke or something but it'd be good for you to meet some guys that you might be sharing some classes with and also Sherlock can observe basic human contact." Greg winked while Sherlock murmured something that sounded awfully like- 'eff off'.

John pulled his navy t-shirt over his head and rummaged around in his bag for a pair of jeans. By the time he was dressed Sherlock was already standing by the door in a tightly fitted plum t-shirt, jeans and a long grey coat.

"Ready?" John asked as he pulled a pair of black hi tops on. Sherlock nodded and held the door open for John. A group of seven boys were standing outside Lestrade's room, they aged from about 15 to either 17 or 18 with the oldest already sipping from cans of Strongbow. Sherlock stood awkwardly against the wall while John mingled with a few of the year 11 guys who seemed nice enough. Greg appeared in the middle of the crowd with a bottle of apple sidekick in one hand and a cooler in the other.

"New plan!" he announced to the group, "we're heading out to the woods for a drinking session!" There were choruses of 'woo' from the crowd of boys.

Sherlock looked a bit put out and turned his coat collar up before marching ahead of the group and down the stairs.

Somehow John managed to catch up with his long legged roommate on the ground floor and stopped him just before the door, "Hey Sherlock, I know absolutely nothing about you but you know everything about me and we're roommates so don't you think we should know all that stuff?"

"I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you? Roommates should know the worst about each other." Sherlock made it quite clear with his clipped tone that that was all John would be discovering about his somewhat mysterious roommate that night.

In the woods the ground was thick with fallen branches, sepia leaves and decaying pine needles. Traces of the dying sunlight trickled through the heavy ceiling of pine and oak trees. The light dappled on the forest floor and matched with the quiet trickle of water from some invisible creek or stream gave a very odd aura to the place. John noticed with a jolt that Sherlock had disappeared from the weaving path and was sitting on an overturned log several metres off the path. John stepped off the path and into the relative darkness of where Sherlock was sitting.

"Would you like a cigarette?" Sherlock asked casually as he conjured a pack of Marlboro Lights from his coat with a flick of his wrist.

"I don't smoke," John answered stiffly as Sherlock dug a box of matches out from the back pocket of his jeans. There was a flash of white and the smell of phosphorus reached John's nostrils. A moment later Sherlock blew a ring of grey smoke out of his mouth and turned to face John, the lit match illuminating his features.

"Just because you don't make a habit of something, doesn't mean you cannot partake in it, here," Sherlock extended the gently smouldering cigarette and John gently took it between his index and middle finger.

Smoke seemed to fill his mouth and throat and even his stomach. John tried to breathe out just like Sherlock had but instead found himself choking, "that was disgusting," his breath seemed to rattle around his lungs and roll across his tongue.

"You get used to it," Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly. There was a faint ringing sound, which John simply put down to the fact that his head was spinning wildly. Sherlock pulled out an expensive looking smart phone and pressed it to his ear.

"Yes Lestrade?" John coughed as quietly as possible as Sherlock's face lit up considerably. A moment later Sherlock's phone was back in his pocket and his cigarette had been stubbed out on the log alongside hundreds of names carved in with penknives and other cigarette burns, "John, a body's been found in the woods, not far from here either. Will you come?"


End file.
